


fall from grace

by thinksfaster



Category: Marvel 616, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Canon Lesbian Character, Character Death, F/F, Fewer than 2000 words, Implied Sexual Content, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Time Travel, almost all characters tagged are mentioned by name and that's it, i'll write happier stuff soon, this is sad i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinksfaster/pseuds/thinksfaster
Summary: Death jokes were funny when they were younger. America would’ve snorted and agreed, made an equally cheerless comment.But that was then.





	fall from grace

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fanfic - not the first i've written but the first posted, so if i suck, please point that out, cause it's honestly appreciated abdsjhds :>. this is also 100% un-beta'd, so sorry for any typos - again point those out and i'll sort them! anyways, i hope you enjoy!

The sensation of energy coursing through America as she opens a portal is a familiar one to her. She knows how it feels to have it collect and tremble behind her eyes, fizz at her wrists, throb in her heart and seep slowly through the cracks and crevices of the multiverse, opening one entry, closing another. She doesn't, like many of her peers, feel overwhelmed by her power.

The fear is more rudimentary than that.

Adventure is part of America - it's in her blood. She was well and truly born for this. And still, after so many years, so much adventure, the apprehension of what could transpire on the other side of each doorway is still very real and very present.

America can, of course, fight monsters and villains and all manner of horrors. She can punch and kick and howl her way out of anything. She's America freaking Chavez, Kate would say. She can do anything.

Despite Kate's ministrations, America knows all too well there aren't many people who've seen what she's seen - the worst of the worst, only getting worse; wars at their birth, wars as they die out, leaving barren planets, even entire star systems and more, behind them. Omnipotent beings, crushing galaxies between forefinger and thumb, crimes at street level too staggering to pay thought to.

Maybe it would be easier to pretend this is what had scared her. But it's something that holds significantly painful proximity to America and Kate that shakes her so cruelly.

______________________________

Kate can feel America's hands begin to wander lazily under the fabric of her shirt. The pads of her fingers are calloused enough that Kate's breath hitches slightly as they run over the taut skin of a slim scar on her abdomen. It's not like she would ever admit it.

Kate blatantly gasps, however, as America snorts against the neck of the girl in her lap, fingers dancing mockingly across the fair stretch marks embellishing her hips.

"Bitch."

"Dumbass."

America hums amusedly, tipping her head back to study her handiwork from the previous evening - a cluster of nebulous hickeys at Kate's pulse point, down along her collar bones, dipping down into her cleavage. Kate smiles slightly at the attention, adjusting her hands to rest at the nape of America's neck, tugging at the downy curls there.

Kate's t-shirt is too purple, America thinks.

"Missed you," she says simply. Then, "You should visit more often."

"You know I can't, princess." There's no antagonism behind her words, and Kate knows better than to fall into a petty argument. These moments, with the two of them finally able to bask idly in the warmth of the summer sunrise, their blankets pulled back on naked skin, legs tangled, clothes pooled at the foot of the bed, are immeasurably precious.

By midday, possibly later, America will have disappeared halfway across the multiverse. Kate won't hear from her for what feels like an eternity (days), she'll make up for missed time with Tommy or Cassie or Laura, babysit for Teddy and Billy, talk shit about Clint with Nat and/or Bobbi in a try-hard pub nearby and before she knows it, America will be back.

They'll fill the emptiness in each other's chests with kisses and banter, because after every absence, being with America is still so easy and more than too good to be true. It's what Kate fights for. It's what she lives for.

America leaves each time with her lips burning from Kate's rampant fervor and returns each time with the promise of Kate waiting for her. They don't label it. I thought I'd be dead by now, Kate muses once. America wastes no time in going to stand by the window, silent as Kate rolls over into the warm patch she's left behind.

Death jokes were funny when they were younger. America would've snorted and agreed, made an equally cheerless comment.

But that was then.

This time, Kate doesn't enquire about America's willingness as Kate dragged her towards the bedroom. She doesn't mention the tears in the middle of the night, or how tightly America holds her when she shudders with pleasure, how intently she watches her, how delicately she caresses her.

America has always treated Kate like a princess because Kate is her princess; it's something that's theirs and theirs alone.When America had mumbled this to her, curled up in a room back of Noh-Varr's ship (God she hates that place now), Kate had giggled. It had been an inside joke. You're not that straight.

This is different, but they aren't in a position to slow down or to think too much. America wonders when they will have time to do that. If she'll ever get a chance to compliment Kate in detail about the pearl of her eyes, which still shine just as they used to. She wonders if she'll be able to talk about how much she loves Kate then, too.

America does love Kate. She will never say that out loud. Because try as they might, they will never get beyond the stage of fleeting whispers, leaving everything but the fundamentals unspoken for fear of wasting precious time, knowing that in their line of work, love is dangerous, and neither of them trusts themselves to do it right.

America knows they're going to leave it too late.

______________________________

When she sees Kate fall, time seems to slow down. Déjà vu fills, overwhelms her senses. Where the past few years have been a breathy blur, Kate falls so slow it's as if the air has converted suddenly to treacle, pulling Kate down, holding onto her long enough for the image to burned viciously into America's retina.

America is moving fast, not fast enough. Kate is falling slow-

Not slow enough.

When America starts moving, she knows she won't make it in time. Quietly accepts it, takes a breath to scream when she hears the thud of Kate's body against the rocks, because she knows she will.

She knows David is on his way over before she even looks up. When she does, she sees the monitor held in his too-tight grip, knuckles blanching.

Tommy - she can't hear him over the blood rushing in her head, but she knows it's him - is screaming at her to do something, anything, energy crackling around him viciously, but America has seen this all before. No amount of punching, kicking or howling will change this.

She holds Kate until she sees the life leave her eyes. Then she wishes the snow and fog away, for them to leave her, but she knows they won't. Kate's skin is so cold. She aches for warm sheets, the sun on her back. She runs her fingers over the scar. Kate's breath doesn't hitch.

The blood on the rocks is too red, America thinks.

America Chavez disappears back into the portal, the points of the star starkly bright against the grey of the smoke.

America Chavez watches her go.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry, not sorry >:P. i'm on twitter @KKRAKOA!!


End file.
